


God Ships It

by MarlynnOfMany



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Happily Ever After, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 23:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlynnOfMany/pseuds/MarlynnOfMany
Summary: This is what happens next, picking up after the last line of the show.  There is some concern about what Heaven and Hell will decide to do about them, but they're determined to make the most of anything.





	God Ships It

**Author's Note:**

> I started thinking about how the miracles work (thanks to [Tumblr](https://marlynnofmany.tumblr.com) conversations), and ended up writing the happiest ever after I could settle on for these guys. They deserve it. 
> 
> (The Almighty agrees.)

“To the world.”

“To the _world_.”

The angel and the demon both drank their champagne, thinking about the recent near misses. They hadn’t died. The world hadn’t ended — but in a way it had. The future in front of them looked very different from anything they’d ever known in their very long lives. 

Aziraphale spoke first. “I won’t have to send in reports anymore,” he said with a hesitant smile. “Or get unexpected visits from Gabriel!” 

“Or pretend to be interested in actually selling your books,” Crowley offered, spinning his champagne glass. “You don’t have to be a respectable pillar of the community now, you know. You can close up shop, and hoard as many books as you like.” 

Aziraphale smiled at that, his face doing a dance between delight and disapproval, then there was the visible realization that he didn’t _have_ to disapprove. No one would be critiquing his conduct anymore. Well, except for a certain demon, but that went without saying. 

“And what about you?” Aziraphale asked. “You won’t have to do any more temptings, or take credit for who knows how many human atrocities.” He set down his glass primly. “You can be as respectable as you choose.” 

Crowley smiled behind his sunglasses. “Sure, Angel.” 

“_I_ think you should open up a flower shop,” Aziraphale suggested. “Or a pet shop. With snakes; wouldn’t that be fun?”

Crowley gave him a look over the tops of his sunglasses, golden eyes amused. “No shops. Too many people. But some travel could be fun. See the world on our own time, without work ruining it for us.” 

Aziraphale smiled at the “us.” He nodded, thinking. “That would be _very_ nice. You know, there are many places I’ve been where I though ‘Oh, Crowley would love this.’ Performances, festivals, spectacular works of art…”

“Ever seen the Great Wall of China?” Crowley asked. 

“Briefly, but I’ve always wanted to walk the entire thing. It would be grand.” Aziraphale looked away and back. “With you.” 

Crowley’s smile grew wider, and he took another drink from the glass that had been empty a moment earlier. “I can think of nothing finer.” It sounded like his usual sarcasm, but something about it seemed uncharacteristically honest. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. (Still lounging shamelessly, of course, but a touch more alert.) “Why stop there? We can go anywhere. The Eiffel tower, the Pyramids, the Grand Canyon. We could even hike to the bottom and go on one of those absurd rafting trips.” 

Aziraphale made a face. “Or just observe the majesty from the top, thank you.”

“What, no hiking? Surely that would be your cup of tea. All that good clean exercise in the great outdoors.” 

Aziraphale gave him another look. “You’re one to talk. Have you ever owned anything close to a hiking shoe?” 

Crowley’s smile didn’t waver. “It’s a new era. I could branch out.” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “What about the redwood forests of California? That would be a lovely visit, and not nearly as strenuous. Have you ever been up close to a giant sequoia? Trees so big that they might just ignore you if you shouted at them.” 

“Sounds like a challenge.” 

Aziraphale was on a roll. “We could take a _road trip_. Wouldn’t that be quaint? See all the little touristy spots along the way between bigger places. See some cities and nature both.” 

Crowley signaled the waiter with his empty glass, too casually. “We could stop by Vegas. See some shows, get married by an Elvis impersonator. Wouldn’t that just cheese off everyone at the Head Offices?” 

Aziraphale gaped, unable to come up with an answer. The arrival of the waiter gave him a few moments to compose himself. It would be lying to say he hadn’t ever thought about such things, but only as an idle what-if, never to be spoken aloud. Just meeting in public was dangerous enough — he’d assumed that their respective sides would have reacted poorly to learning how much of a friendship they shared, and he’d recently been proven terrifyingly right. 

Crowley caught a glimpse of his anguished expression and immediately started backpedalling. “Just a joke. Silly idea—”

“What if they try to _kill us_ again?” Aziraphale interrupted. “I don’t — they haven’t said anything yet, but I’m sure they’re just trying to figure out what they want to do about us. It won’t be anything good.” He looked away. “I can’t bring myself to believe they’ll really leave us alone.” 

“They will.” Crowley scooted his chair forward and clasped Aziraphale’s hand, ignoring the angel’s startled look. “This is something new for them, and they don’t want word to get out. We scared them, Angel. You should have seen Gabriel’s face when I breathed fire at him! He is terrified of you now, and doesn’t want to have anything to do with either of us.” 

Aziraphale smiled weakly. “I’m sure Hell is feeling similar,” he admitted. “Hastur in particular looked rather poleaxed by your immunity to holy water.” 

Crowley pointed at him in sudden realization. “I forgot! Hastur exploded the spray bottle of regular water that I told him was holy! He’ll be thinking now that he almost died right then!” He cackled. “Serves him right! Oh, I am going to treasure that.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t summon much of a smile, though he tried. With a sigh, he said, “All the more reason for them to want to be rid of us, you know. Because we’re dangerous unknowns.” 

Crowley spread his arms. “But how? Their nuclear options didn’t work. I say they’ll just pretend we don’t exist, and sweep it all under the rug. They’re good at that.” 

“I’d like to believe it. I really would.” 

“Well, let’s think about something else, then. Where else do you want to go? We could set ourselves up with new identities, throw them off our trail. Get a nice little cottage somewhere. We wouldn’t have to get married, of course.” He winked cheekily. “We could just live in sin.” 

Aziraphale shook his head sternly, smiling despite himself. All he said was, “You could have a proper garden. Grow some apple trees, even.” 

Crowley nodded in approval. “And you can line every wall with bookshelves. And have apple pie every day of the week.” 

“Oh, it’s best with ice cream on top. Have you ever _made_ ice cream? Did you know they do it with a little tub and a hand crank? That would be fun to try.” 

They talked late into the night about the infinite possibilities, resolutely staying away from the topic of celestial retribution. There was no use in speculating, after all. 

* * * * *

The Bentley pulled up to the bookshop and the pair got out, still talking about world travel. Aziraphale stopped at the sight of a white letter stuck to his front door. 

Crowley turned at the whiff of sulphur to find a gray paper stuck under a windshield wiper. 

Wordlessly, they both plucked the letters free and read. Looked at each other, then at the empty street. 

“I think we’d better get inside,” Crowley said. Aziraphale nodded emphatically. They wasted no time moving indoors and locking it behind them. 

“Is yours a termination notice too?” Aziraphale asked, clutching his letter. 

Crowley nodded. He read aloud from the grimy page. “‘We are hereby revoking your clearance and abilities, effective immediately. Go forth and die, in whatever way seems best to you.’ Did they crib that bit from Tolkien?” 

“Mine has part in different handwriting,” Aziraphale offered. “ ‘I don’t know if you’ll actually get old like a human,’” he read, “‘But either way you ought to be out of our hair in a few decades. Try your best to speed things up, will you?’” He looked up, mouth opening and closing. “I think that’s part’s Gabriel,” he managed. 

Crowley’s jaw was clenched. “Gabriel’s a bastard.” 

Aziraphale nodded numbly. Neither spoke for a moment. 

Crowley crumpled up his letter and chucked it across the room, collapsing wordlessly on the couch. 

Aziraphale sank down beside him. He folded his letter, dithering about where to put it. “At… least they won’t be coming to kill us,” he said. “So that’s nice.” He finally slid it under a book, then set another book on top of it. “In a way, it’s fitting,” he tried. “Going out as regular humans, after spending this long among them.” He looked at Crowley. “It might make that traveling a little less enjoyable, but the cottage still sounds nice.” 

Crowley wasn’t listening. “Can they even do that, though?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Can they actually cut us off like that, without God’s say-so?” Crowley clarified, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t mean allowing us into Heaven or Hell. I mean the miracles. Those don’t come from _them_.”

Aziraphale looked at the demon. “I always thought the miracles came from Heaven and Hell, respectively.” 

Crowley shook his head. “No, not from the places. All your people report to God and mine to Satan, though he was an angel once like the rest of us. He can’t be a source of power any more than Gabriel can, much as he’d like us to think it.” 

Aziraphale clasped his hands, anxiously. “So what are you getting at?” 

Crowley sat up. “That all miracles come from God, one way or another. Ineffable Plan, remember? She planned for Lucifer to rebel, just so she’d have balance. Or toys to fight each other, I don’t know. But She is orchestrating everything, and it’s infuriating. Because she doesn’t _answer_ anyone.” 

Aziraphale looked down. “I know what you mean.” 

They both sat quietly for a moment. 

Aziraphale said, “Well, they obviously think they can cut us off.” 

Crowley spoke at the same time. “We should test it.” 

Neither spoke, looking at each other and away, searching for inspiration. The bookshop was as quiet as ever. 

Aziraphale spoke first. “This could be the last miracles we ever do.”

“And it might not work,” Crowley added. “If you could pick anything, something to do for the rest of our lives, what would it be? No, keep it to yourself,” he added as Aziraphale opened his mouth and reached out hesitantly. “I’ll think of something too. Then we’ll snap for it. All right?” Crowley raised a hand. 

Aziraphale nodded shakily, lowering his arm. He tried to read Crowley’s expression behind the sunglasses, comparing it to his own. They were both quiet for several breaths. 

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Me too. On three?”

“One, two, _three_.”

_Snap._

On the table in front of them appeared two small boxes and an envelope. 

Aziraphale gasped. Crowley took off his sunglasses and actually dropped them on the floor. They looked at each other and each picked up a box. 

Opened it, closed it, and offered it to the other. 

With the widest smiles they had ever worn. 

“Will you?” 

“Yes.”

The both gazed down at the wedding rings that they had apparently both fantasized about for untold years. 

“Oh, I should put it on you, shouldn’t I?” Aziraphale asked. “I believe that’s proper?” 

Crowley agreed, his face a picture of unguarded joy. With some fumbling of the boxes, they each placed the rings on each other’s finger. They were identical: a diamond heart with two wings, one inlaid darker than the other. Neither could say what metals those were, or even if it was really diamond. It could have been some new mineral only found on Alpha Centauri. They could wonder later. They had far more to think about now. 

Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s cheek. “I didn’t think you felt the same.” 

Crowley closed his eyes and held the hand there with his own, as if committing the sensation to memory. “For a long time, Angel,” he said, his voice a croak. He opened his eyes again, glowing gold and serpentine. “I didn’t dare say.” 

Aziraphale lifted his other hand to run his fingers through the fiery hair he’d thought of so often. “We dare now,” he whispered. 

Crowley reached out, slowly, as if afraid of being rebuffed, and slid long fingers behind Aziraphale’s head, pulling him closer oh-so-gently. 

Aziraphale met him in the middle. 

There was desperation in that kiss, millennia of longing, disbelief that it could be real after all this time. Giddy joy that it _was_. 

There may have been a bit of snake tongue. There was nearly a tumble off the couch. It was only when Crowley set his hand down on the envelope and _slid_ that either of them remembered it was there. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, a tad breathlessly. “Right.” He looked back and forth between the envelope and Crowley’s face. That red hair was hopelessly, gloriously tousled, and it made him want to run his hands through it again. 

Crowley too was glancing between the envelope and the messy-haired face before him. The angel had never looked so improper, and it made Crowley want to do far more than muss his hair. 

But, as ever, Crowley was curious. 

He shifted position enough to open the envelope without losing his balance. Aziraphale turned too, pressing close and resting a chin on his shoulder. 

Crowley reached inside and pulled out an ornately filigreed certificate, with golden ink that shone in the light. 

“Is that a marriage certificate?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley handed it to him. “Yup.” 

“It’s lovely,” the angel said. “We’ll have to frame it.” He had to laugh. “You wanted to cheese them off, my dear. Should we send a photo?” 

Crowley grinned back. “We should get dressed up and have a proper ceremony,” he suggested. “Send them a picture of that.” 

Aziraphale gazed at the certificate. “Yes, we rather should.” He scanned over the page, registering the sigils of their true names. He hadn’t quite reached the signature that named the officiant as someone very ineffable indeed when Crowley made a surprised noise. 

“Think there’s something else in here.” He upended the envelope over his hand, prepared to catch a single paper. 

Improbable quantities poured out, spilling over the table and onto the floor. Crowley yelped. 

“What is—” Aziraphale picked up the nearest page and goggled at it. “This is the deed to a house!” He snatched up another. “This house! Look, it’s a cottage with a garden!” 

Crowley held up his own handful. “The town has an annual book festival. And award-winning vineyards. And—” He held up a pamphlet about a vintage car gala. “Is this place _real??"_

Aziraphale beamed. “It is now.” Then his expression turned to confusion. “Wait, I didn’t miracle these. Why are you surprised?” 

“I didn’t make them!” Crowley exclaimed. “What do you mean, you didn’t?” 

They were silent for a heartbeat before looking upward in unison. 

“She does approve,” Aziraphale breathed. 

“Great Plan,” Crowley said toward the ceiling. “That — that is a Great Plan. I’ll give you that.” 

Their eyes met, and they dissolved into helpless laughter. Crowley stuttered his way through a verbal shrug while Aziraphale looked out at the sea of brochures and photos. He miracled himself a glass of whiskey, stronger than his usual fare, but this sort of revelation called for it. He miracled another and handed it to Crowley, then paused at the demon’s expression. 

“Oh.” He looked down at the two drinks. “Does that mean…?” 

“Yeah, _oh_.” Crowley snapped his fingers. 

A bottle appeared on the table. 

Aziraphale let out a measured breath and set down the two glasses. Crowley snapped his fingers again, and a bundle of two-toned roses appeared in Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale smiled and lifted them to smell — wonderfully sweet — then snapped his own fingers. 

A tartan scarf appeared draped around Crowley’s shoulders. It was soft, Aziraphale had made sure of that, so the brief eye-rolling was all for show. Brief, because Crowley was too busy grinning fit to split his face. Another snap, and Aziraphale was sporting a red-and-black snake scarf of his own. 

Then Crowley was wearing a T-shirt that said “Kissed By An Angel,” and Aziraphale was giggling. 

One red eyebrow rocketed skyward, fingers snapped, and Aziraphale found himself wearing a similar shirt that proudly proclaimed “Snake Charmer.” 

“Oh Crowley, _really_,” Aziraphale said, at a loss. 

“It was either that or ‘Fucking Adorable,’” the demon said, still grinning. “I thought this was better.” 

Aziraphale shook his head and conjured an elaborate necklace of pink sapphires in the shape of a heart. 

The gifts flew back and forth until Crowley swept to his feet and caught Aziraphale up in the tightest hug, spinning him around and kissing him soundly. 

“Let’s get packing!” Crowley exclaimed, setting him on his feet. “Grab a carpet bag and throw everything into it like Mary Poppins, and don’t spare the miracles! We have the rest of our lives to get on with, where we don’t have to be anybody but us!” 

Aziraphale grabbed him instead and kissed him back. “Before we do,” he said in an undertone, “There’s something I’ve wanted to try.” He traced a fingertip down Crowley’s shirt. “A few … things,” he admitted. 

There was that grin again. “Are you tempting me into depravity, Angel?” 

Aziraphale held up the hand with the ring. “It’s not sin when we’re married!” 

They kissed again. “I love you, Angel. Have I told you that?” 

“I love you too. Feel free to say it often. I get the feeling that I won’t tire of hearing it anytime soon.” 

Crowley scooped him up in proper crossing-the-threshold fashion, and they strode off to the back of the shop, leaving flowers, pamphlets, and ineffable joy in their wake. 

“Do you even have a bed in here, Angel?”

_Snap._

“I do now!”


End file.
